Every Day Thoughts December
by MissJayne
Summary: A series of oneshots and drabbles about the friendships between our favourite characters.
1. Dec 1

_A/N: For intro, please see Every Day Thoughts January_

Every Day Thoughts December

_**Dec 1**_

**While the pot boils, friendship blooms. – A. B. Cheales**

Palmer stared into the machine, completely fascinated. He really wanted to know who had come up with a machine to clean human bones.

They certainly didn't have the easiest job in the world. NCIS had been called to the scene of a horrific car crash, the body inside burned beyond all recognition. While Abby confirmed that the car in question belonged to a Naval Commander, he and Ducky had been given the task of determining exactly who was in the vehicle.

With the body in the way it was, Ducky had reluctantly concluded that they needed to remove the flesh from the bones; it was simply interfering. And he enjoyed standing next to it while it did its job.

"Tea, Mr. Palmer?" came a familiar voice.

He grinned and headed back into Autopsy itself. "Yes, please," he replied, settling on a stool that Ducky had placed out for him.

"While we have a little time to spare, we may as well catch up," Ducky smiled, pouring the tea into two mugs and handing one to his assistant. "Abby seems to think you went on a date over the weekend?"

Palmer smiled back. "Third date. She's amazing. And she doesn't mind my job."

"That always helps," Ducky noted.

"She's the type of girl I could introduce to my mother."

Ducky nodded sagely. "So you two might be serious?"

Palmer considered for a moment and nodded.

Ducky clapped him on the back. "Congratulations! Personally, I spent the weekend with mother…"


	2. Dec 2

_**Dec 2**_

**Friendship usually begins with two people discovering their similarities, but the relationship is firmly established when they learn to appreciate each other's differences.**

Tim smiled softly to himself as he glanced over at Abby. She had fallen asleep a few hours ago, utterly exhausted after working through the night to get a result for Gibbs.

They had been trying to trace someone for the past twelve hours, but their 'friend' was good at hiding. How Gibbs thought they could locate an expert hacker in only a few hours was beyond him, but at least he had recognized that the two of them needed to work together if he was to get any answers.

Unfortunately, they still didn't have answers and Tim knew from bitter experience that Gibbs would come by to check up on them soon. Nevertheless, he had no intention of waking Abby.

She looked so peaceful when she slept. If it were possible, she appeared even younger. Her usual excitable bubbly persona had a chance to rest. He had been careful to remove the Caf-Pow from the desk in case the smell of caffeine roused her.

The Goth stirred slightly and he froze, afraid to even think in case it woke her properly. She sighed and settled down again, oblivious to his presence.

Tim spun around, unsure what had caught his attention.

Gibbs was standing behind the two of them, glancing at Abby. Then he turned his gaze to Tim. He gulped but shook his head.

The boss turned back to Abby, mouthed 'Let her sleep' and headed out the door as silently as he had entered. Tim risked a smile. Everyone would do anything for Abby.


	3. Dec 3

_**Dec 3**_

**Friendship improves happiness and abates misery, by the doubling of our joy and the dividing of our grief. – Marcus Tullius Cicero**

Gibbs knew his team required little persuasion to celebrate after a case. It was a good chance for them to wind down and not end up going insane. But tonight they were tired and he had decided to issue an order to attend rather than risk them going home and sleeping with their latest dead body on the brain.

Even so, they definitely looked surprised when he settled on a bar stool next to Tony and asked the bartender for a bourbon.

"Wasn't expecting to see you tonight, boss," McGee managed to say.

"Yeah," Tony added. "Thought for sure you'd be under your boat, drinking yourself into a stupor…" He paused, waiting for the obligatory headslap.

Gibbs simply smiled and sipped his drink. His team needed to relax tonight and he wasn't in charge, for once.

"Perhaps Gibbs has hit his head," he heard Ziva whisper at his lack of response.

"And lost his hearing," McGee added in an equally low voice.

"Or Rule 38 is in effect –" Tony tried to offer, but Gibbs had had enough and gently tapped the back of his Senior Field Agent's head to get his message across.

"Gotcha boss," Tony managed to get out.

Gibbs observed silently as his team began to relax. And so did he.


	4. Dec 4

_**Dec 4**_

**I'd rather have twenty Monday mornings with you than a single Saturday night with anyone else.**

Tony stumbled off the elevator and blindly made his way towards his desk. With a bit of luck, he had arrived before the others.

It was Monday morning, very early Monday morning. After staying up a little late the night before, he was tired and desperately in need of sleep. But he had survived Gibbs forcing him to work for days on end without sleep, and there was no way any of his teammates would let him nap. Except perhaps Abby if he managed to sneak away.

The filing cabinet contained his emergency kit for mornings like this. Toothbrush, toothpaste, mug with disgusting water after he had failed to summon up the energy to clean the dang thing out. Groaning, he began to hunt for his deodorant. Missing.

He glanced across at Ziva's desk. Should he risk it? She was due in any minute. And he was still suffering after the last time he'd gone through her desk – she had threatened to key his car if he even touched it again.

Checking the squad room and deciding to take the risk, he made his way to McGee's desk and retrieved the deodorant. He liked his fingers in one piece and the Probie was a weakling.

Next job – locate a clean shirt. Luckily he kept a few in his desk. Making a mental note to add some new ones, he settled down in his chair, ready for the day. Thankfully no one had seen his arrival.

Gibbs appeared out of nowhere, as usual. "You forgot to shave, DiNozzo."


	5. Dec 5

_**Dec 5**_

**Friendship should be in the singular; it can be no more plural than love. – Ninon de Lenclos**

Ziva faithfully followed her partner into the squad room, glaring at his back as they went. She enjoyed interviewing possible suspects, even if she was not allowed to torture them for information.

Sometimes it was a pain having her arms tied behind her back. But she had to admit it was more fun to scare people into admitting the truth as Gibbs did. They were both good at it.

Tony did not scare people into confessing their darkest secrets; she found it hard to understand what he did. However, it seemed to work so she could not fault him. He tended to make people slip up, which she would never do. And she enjoyed using his own tactics against him.

"Probie!" Tony greeted the other member of their team enthusiastically.

Ziva rolled her eyes. Could he not treat anyone as though he was more than five years old?

"What, Tony?" McGee sighed.

"Megan Druce did not do it," Ziva decided to jump in, before the conversation could get too out of hand. "She has an alibi."

"Knocking boots with PFC Ackles," Tony interjected.

Ziva dropped her bag behind her desk and turned to stare at her partner. "I would be concerned if boots were involved," she stated, confused.

Tony shook his head. "What?"

"They were sleeping together," Ziva continued. "I do not see how that involves boots."

Tony snorted. "It's an expression, _Zee-vah_," he admitted.

She glared at him for daring to laugh at her, reaching blindly for the box of paperclips she knew lay on her desk.

"I know," McGee offered. "It doesn't make any sense."

She smiled at him before glaring at Tony again. He should not be allowed to make fun of her English if she could not make fun of his Hebrew. Perhaps she should start teaching him…


	6. Dec 6

_**Dec 6**_

**I have at last found a heart which is in unison with my own. – John Hookham Frere**

The crime scene was in the middle of nowhere. 'Nothing new there then,' Palmer mused.

They were all crammed into a small wood, awkwardly positioned on a hillside. Civilization was approximately four miles away in the form of a city, a very picturesque one if he said so himself. An old church stood on the top of a distant hill, easily visible for miles.

The wood itself was chilly; a cold wind blew through the trees and froze everything. The sun did not reach the ground properly and Palmer wished fervently for a body to be in a nice location for once.

Florida would be nice. In any month other than the summer, and as long as they were nowhere near any swamps or alligators. Miami looked good on the television and he'd never had the opportunity to go there…

"What do you think of this, Mr. Palmer?" Ducky's voice cut across his thoughts and he forced himself to stop daydreaming and pay attention again.

"Wow," Palmer muttered. "Haven't seen _that_ in a while. It's his brain, right doctor?"

"Precisely." Ducky smiled.

Agent DiNozzo took that as an invitation to join their conversation. "Precisely, what?"

"The thing that looks like half-melted chocolate ice cream," Palmer pointed out with glee. "That's his brain."

He and Ducky both started laughing as Tony scrunched up his nose, turned an interesting shade of white and immediately left. Perhaps Tony would know better than to stick his nose where it didn't belong.


	7. Dec 7

_**Dec 7**_

**I know I can count on you for the little things in life – like looking the other way when I take a second helping of ice cream.**

Jenny smiled as she continued to eat the ice cream. This had definitely been a good idea.

Although she had not come up with it. After a long, tiring day at work, she had staggered home with the sole aim of collapsing in a chair and not moving for several hours. The knocking on her front door had tried her patience; only the niggling thought that her 'guest' was likely to break the door down if he or she continued knocking for much longer had made her move.

She had instantly started going through the pros and cons of making her visitor hurt when it had turned out to be Gibbs on her doorstep. He had not even bothered to wait for her to invite him in; he knew where the coffee was and vanished into her kitchen.

The ice cream had been a surprise. As had the movie. But she had been quietly pleased that he kept an eye on her and knew when she needed to relax.

They had ended up sharing the chocolate ice cream while the movie had played on in the background. She hadn't been paying much attention to it, more interested in the strange man sitting beside her who was trying to steal the frozen delight out of her hands. Someone needed to be taught how to share.

A single spoonful lay at the bottom of the tub. Each tried to stare the other into abandoning the last of the ice cream.

Suddenly, Jethro stuck his spoon into the tub and Jenny tried to stop him. She won the spoon fight by distracting him – tickling his side and taking advantage of his momentary lapse in concentration to scoop up her prize.

He mock-glared at her as she ate it slowly. She just smiled back, basking in the knowledge she had won.

And he would try to get her back.


	8. Dec 8

_**Dec 8**_

**a****n act of friendship is like a quilt square – each square is part of a beautiful whole as well as a work of art on its own.**

Abby bounced off the elevator as it arrived at the correct floor. Immediately, she noticed the difference between her lab and the squad room. Her lab was always lonely, except for Bert and her babies, but the squad room was full of bustling crowds of people. To her mind, it looked like some kind of teeming market.

Reveling in the noise of agents rather than her new heavy metal CD, she easily found her way to her favorite part of the squad room. The team. _Her _team.

Although they weren't really because she worked for NCIS and not Gibbs exclusively, never mind how much she enjoyed spending time with this particular team and how they had a curious knack of giving her more evidence and less time to run it in than everyone else combined, while she still had to deal with everyone else's evidence on her own because she refused to have another assistant…

Her silver-haired fox cleared his throat and she stopped at his desk, saluting with her left hand. "Abigail Scuito reporting as ordered, sir!" she announced, a wide grin on her face.

"Wrong hand, Abs," he told her without even looking up. "And I didn't call ya."

She switched hands. "I know, _el jefe_," she replied. "But today's the day."

He gave her a look which clearly indicated he had no clue what she was on about.

"Quilt squares!" she reminded everyone. "For charity. I get to make them all into one big blanket."

Gibbs looked down at his work again and she decided to visit Timmy first. He handed her a perfect square. She smiled her appreciation before visiting Tony, who was rooting around in his desk drawers.

"I made one," he promised. "It's in here somewhere."

Ziva rose from her seat and handed over a small pile. "I found them a good way to pass the time on stakeouts," she explained.

Abby gave her a huge hug for her efforts before they both turned to glare at Tony. He eventually handed over two squares.

"One's from the boss," Tony explained rather sheepishly. "I thought it was easier to make an extra one than teach him how to knit."

Abby privately agreed but said nothing. Instead, she beamed at them all. "Thanks guys!" she grinned.

The back elevator was packed as she hit the button for Autopsy. She should have a few more squares waiting for her down there.


	9. Dec 9

_**Dec 9**_

**I would be friends with you and have your love. – William Shakespeare**

Tim hesitated as he sat at his desk. Should he give her the present or should he not?

He had heard from a little bird that it was Ziva's birthday today. In fact most of the Navy Yard knew because the little bird had been a certain Goth. But he also knew that Ziva had not mentioned it, and he was not sure if she would welcome a gift or not.

She always joined in at the end of December, both giving and receiving gifts. But she had never told them her birthday and Tim was content to let it pass uncelebrated if that was what she wanted. And yet he also wanted for her to know how much she meant to him, how much she meant to all of them. He couldn't decide what to do.

There had to be a reason she never mentioned the date. Was it because of a previous bad experience on this day? Was it because Mossad frowned on celebrations unless they had just killed someone? Was it because she simply did not see why she should celebrate?

Ziva looked up at him for a moment and he winced. It was enough for her to push her chair back and come over to him.

"What is the matter?" she asked.

"I have… a, erm…"

"Spit it out, McGee," she ordered. "I will not bite."

"Erm… happy birthday?"

She stared at him for a moment.

"Do you not celebrate your birthday?" he checked. "Because I can just forget all about it –"

"At Mossad, we did not celebrate anything within our working hours," she recalled. "Especially something as frivolous as a birthday. But I am not in Israel right now."

He smiled. "That's good because I have a present for you." He handed over the small gift and was delighted at the way her eyes lit up.

"For me?" she double-checked before tearing into the wrapping.

"I thought for a minute I was going to have to warn Abby," he admitted. "She's got something set up for you in her lab. How are you with sudden noises?"

She returned the smile. "It is beautiful, Tim! And I will be careful not to kill anyone when I next go to see Abby."


	10. Dec 10

_**Dec 10**_

**Your laughter has been the soundtrack to many of my life's favorite memories.**

Gibbs stood at the grave, a single red rose in his hands. The biting wind made no impression on him save to turn the tips of his ears an interesting shade of red.

He did not normally come out here, not needing to see the stones spell out what he knew to be true every minute of his life. His family was gone forever. He knew his heart had been irreparably broken, cracked into tiny shards. They never really left his mind and he didn't want them to go.

The cold grey stones seemed to mock him, reminding him of a life when everything had been sunshine and smiles. He had been married to the woman he loved more than anyone else and been unable to even dream of another woman taking her place. Together, they had a perfect daughter, full of smiles and laughter. He swore he could still hear her laughter on the wind.

He missed them more than he thought was possible, more than he let on to others. He knew he could never forget them and considered it to be an insult if he did. They were his family; they would always be with him no matter what. He would carry them with him until his own death.

Gibbs placed the rose on the grave. "I miss you guys," he whispered.


	11. Dec 11

_**Dec 11**_

**True happiness consists not in the multitude of friends, but in the worth and choice. – Ben Jonson, **_**Cynthia's Revels**_

Cynthia smiled as she walked into her office at the start of the day. Mornings were always good; they gave her the chance to get on with her work before the day began to crash down around her ears.

She had no idea how the Director managed her job, but she enjoyed having such a privileged position and a friendly boss. And she could see the results of her hard work almost immediately – with Jenny next door, they could discuss anything at almost any time.

Her inbox thankfully empty for the moment, she set about preparing for the day ahead. She unlocked the Director's office, secretly glad that everything looked in place. A certain silver-haired, blue-eyed man seemed to take pleasure in breaking in on a regular basis.

She liked Agent Gibbs after a fashion. He was a talented agent and he protected Jenny. But at the same time he also raised the blood pressure of the two women. And Cynthia had lost track of the number of shouting matches the two old partners had behind closed doors.

Her own door opened and she glanced up to see her partner-in-crime-slash-worst-nightmare appear. Her brow furrowed at the three coffee cups in his hands. Unceremoniously, he dumped one on her desk before performing the same action in Jenny's office. Cynthia had no heart to stop him.

He shot her a lazy grin as he left. Smiling, she returned to her desk and sipped the offering. Her favorite. Now how did he know that?


	12. Dec 12

_A/N: My beta wishes me to make clear that I gave her this to read in the middle of a lecture. When we were four rows back and the lecturer was staring at us. And she had to stop herself from giggling._

_**Dec 12**_

**I can chase freely after my dreams, knowing that your loving arms are there to catch me if I stumble.**

The squad room was practically deserted. No one wanted to work late on Friday nights with good reason.

And yet Tony was stuck in the Navy Yard. Not of his own volition – Gibbs had been in a worse mood than usual and had forbidden his team to leave until they finished their case reports. Seeing as their suspect had only confessed after a round with the boss two hours ago, Tony suspected he would be pulling at least an all-nighter and probably wouldn't escape until Saturday afternoon.

McGee, the freak, had somehow already finished, turned everything in to Gibbs' satisfaction and vanished for the weekend. Gibbs himself had disappeared in the direction of his caffeine supplier. Tony had been left alone in the squad room with a Mossad assassin.

He glanced up from his computer screen to double-check that his little ninja was where she was supposed to be. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw her at her desk, head down and hard at work.

"_Zee-vah_," he called.

Her gaze rose and she stared blankly at him. "What?"

"How are you describing, erm…?" He tailed off, grinning.

She straightened and gave him her best glare. "I do not feel it needs to be mentioned."

His grin widened. "How is not relevant that you tripped over that tree root?"

"I did not trip," she replied.

"So you just flung yourself head-first towards the ground and I prevented you from serious injury by grabbing you?" he teased.

She threw his letter-opener at his head; he tried to duck and fell off his chair instead.

"You stole my letter-opener!" he complained. "I was looking for that!"

Ziva stuck her tongue out at him before returning to her work. Tony continued to smile. He could tease his Mossad hunting dog over this for weeks to come…

"DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped as he reappeared out of thin air.

"Getting off the floor, boss," Tony replied.


	13. Dec 13

_**Dec 13**_

**It is a friendly heart that has plenty of friends. – William Makepeace Thackeray**

Abby grinned as someone knocked at her front door. Another guest! Who would it be this time?

Excusing herself, she charged through the throng of people in the direction of the front door. Another guest! Another friend! And not knowing who it was made opening the door that bit more exciting.

Today was the perfect day for a big party, a party to celebrate anything and everything; the Goth never needing a specific reason to invite all her friends around. Her apartment was crammed full and she knew not everyone was present yet.

Tony was in the kitchen, flirting with someone Abby knew was a pre-op transsexual with the most beautiful smile. Ziva stood not far away, joining in a conversation about death but keeping an eye on her partner, well aware of what could happen. Both girls were looking for blackmail opportunities.

Timmy was deep in conversation with a mysterious redhead; Abby was fairly sure she hadn't invited her directly. Not that she minded. Just as long as Gibbs stayed away…

Jenny and Gibbs were tucked into the only dark corner of the apartment. Hopefully neither had realized they were drinking spiked coffee. The Goth was quietly waiting for Mommy and Daddy to declare their undying love to each other and start making out.

Finally she made it to the front door and pulled it open.

"Abigail!" Ducky greeted her cheerfully. "I hope you don't mind my mother being here. Her nurse hasn't turned up –"

She smiled at him. "The more the merrier."


	14. Dec 14

_**Dec 14**_

**Together, friends find adventure where others see only routine and find fun in what everyone else thinks is work.**

Palmer grinned as he approached the store cupboard, clipboard in hand. His immediate future was suddenly very appealing.

It was as though everyone had suddenly decided not to kill any marines or naval personnel, and none had managed to become suspects either. Nor had there been any suspicious deaths of high-ranking officials who would require an autopsy just in case.

He had heard that the Major Case Response Team were thoroughly fed up of cold cases and desperate to get out into the field. Ziva had even been heard threatening to murder a marine to give them something to do. While Palmer would never kill anyone to keep him busy, he was a little worried that Ziva was fully capable.

Nevertheless, he was glad he had a much more exciting appointment to keep while the rest of his work had ground to a halt. Something he would not miss for the world.

His hands were tingling with anxiety, his pulse rate rocketing, a soft smile on his face that he couldn't hide – not that he wanted to.

He reached out and opened the door silently, smiling as he saw who was waiting for him inside.

"Good to see you!" Ducky smiled. "Ready for our inventory of the store cupboard?"


	15. Dec 15

_**Dec 15**_

**When life throws you an obstacle that you can't see around, know your friends are there, ready to let you stand on their shoulders.**

A terrified scream broke the silence.

Five minutes earlier, the squad room had been amazingly quiet; there was a reason Gibbs enjoyed staying late in the Navy Yard. His team had long since finished their work and scarpered, while no one else had the desire to stay so late without a red hot case.

But he enjoyed the silence. It was all that waited for him at home, minus a boat and a good bottle of bourbon. Until he felt the urge to go home, he would remain at work. He did not even mind sleeping at his desk.

He wasn't just staying to keep on top of work though. It involved a redhead who seemed to keep the same insane hours he did, who had even less to go home to. He was pretty sure that she had not made it to her own home in the past few days. Someone needed to keep an eye on her.

The scream broke the silence. He jumped up from his chair, simultaneously grabbing his gun and racing towards the stairs. Jenny was in danger.

He kicked her office door open, fairly confident she wouldn't yell at him for damaging her precious hinges, and swept the room for intruders.

There were none.

Unless he counted the tiny spider sitting on an open case file on her desk.

She ran over and began to practically climb up him. He resisted the urge to pull her off, aware of her phobia.

"I'll get rid of it," he promised.


	16. Dec 16

_**Dec 16**_

**We have to be so many different things to so many different people in our lives, but to our friends we can be ourselves.**

Ziva glanced across at her partner. It required a little more twisting than usual, but he definitely needed to be watched. Unsupervised, he could be a nightmare.

He seemed to be behaving at the moment, despite the fact he was talking to a blonde witness by the front elevator. 'Flirting' rather than 'talking' was probably the more accurate description, she decided. The cheesy grin on his face and the body language of the blonde bimbo was almost text-book by Tony's standards.

However much his immaturity drove her up the wall, his current behavior made her smile. He did not care for his new _friend_ very much, of that she was sure. He would not be acting this way if he did.

Anthony DiNozzo had many masks, each to hide his fragile self underneath. Yet Ziva knew he could drop them – _did_ drop them around his friends. She shared herself with him and he reciprocated.

It was difficult for both of them to be so vulnerable, to show their tortured souls. She had been brought up to believe that any sign of emotion was weakness, while he had closed himself off at a young age to as protection. But somehow they were able to trust each other, to lower their masks and be themselves.

She smiled as he returned to his desk and flopped down in his chair. "Get her number?" she asked.

He grinned widely. "Of course."

"Going to use it?"

This time, he frowned slightly. "Probably not," he admitted.


	17. Dec 17

_**Dec 17**_

**We'll never get old, friend – we'll just get younger at heart.**

Ducky smiled softly to himself. Right now, everything was going to plan. When this all went wrong, as he knew it would, he would happily blame Jethro.

It had been the younger man's idea to pull a prank on Jennifer. Ducky himself may have consented and then provided said plan, but Jethro had started it.

The Director did look slightly worse than usual; Jethro's job the previous night had been to get her as drunk as possible without making her suspicious. A brief phone call that morning had informed Ducky of a bar crawl and a challenge between the old partners about how much alcohol they could hold.

Judging by Jethro's lack of a hangover, someone had been cheating.

Ducky knew that Jennifer had a nasty habit of working over the weekend, never taking any time for herself, so it had not been difficult to change the date on every calendar he had been able to lay his hands on while she was otherwise pre-occupied. And Jethro had somehow convinced her that she'd slept through Saturday and it was now Sunday.

Which the redhead was taking badly.

"How did I manage to sleep through a whole day?" Jennifer worried. "I haven't done that since college. What if SecNav had called? What if World War Three had broken out?"

"I would have got you up," Jethro noted quietly. Ducky silently agreed; if anything had gone seriously wrong, Jethro would have done his job.

Jennifer seemed not to have heard him. "I have so much work to do this weekend and now I've lost a day? I'm going to be here all night at this rate –"

The phone on her desk began to ring and Ducky watched as Jennifer picked it up effortlessly and answered with her standard greeting.

"Director Shepard."

The two men shared smirks as she listened to whoever it was. This was going well.

"Ziva! I'm so sorry I missed movie night last night, but I somehow managed to sleep all day yesterday…"

This time the looks shared were ones of men about to be caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Slowly they started edging for the door.

"What do you mean, it's Saturday?"

Ducky and Jethro ran.


	18. Dec 18

_**Dec 18**_

**Friendship is like an umbrella that keeps you sheltered from life's emotional storms.**

"Give that to me!"

"I saw it first!"

"I picked it up first."

"I'm the senior field agent and you're the lowly Probie – now give it to me!"

Tim glared at Tony, both hands still on the umbrella. He was not handing it over without a fight.

It was tipping it down outside, had been for the past few days. The wind wasn't helping matters, whipping the water everywhere. Tim had been privately thinking of building an ark if this continued.

Gibbs being Gibbs expected them to keep working as though there was no rain. Given that they couldn't even go to the coffee shop without getting soaked to the skin, it was an impossible order. But they did their best anyway. Tim had been dreaming of warm towels for a while.

And now they had to visit a witness. Knowing their luck, that there would probably be a long walk from the sidewalk to their witness' front door, Tim had thought to pick up an umbrella.

"I was the one who _thought_ to bring an umbrella," Tim argued. "You could have brought your own."

"You didn't think to bring one for me?" Tony grinned. "I should have it."

"Timmy!" came a familiar squeal.

Both men turned around to see Abby.

"I forgot my parasol today," she pouted. "Can I borrow yours?"


	19. Dec 19

_**Dec 19**_

**I love that no matter how open-minded you are about things, you're always "clothes-minded" when it comes to the important stuff in life.**

Ziva smiled as she stepped off the elevator into Abby's lab. Today was a good day – no case for the moment and an invitation to see Abby.

The lab was as welcoming as always; music, if it could be called that, blaring from the speakers, the soft smell of gunpowder lingering in the air from the last ballistics test and a large Caf-Pow sitting on the side. Abby herself was bouncing along to the music while staring at her computer screen, trying to decipher something.

"Shalom," Ziva called softly.

The Goth whirled around and launched herself at the newcomer; Ziva took a few steps back to steady herself.

"It's so good to see you!" Abby squealed. "Not that I haven't seen you in a while, I mean you were here this morning but I didn't see you at lunch because you'd gone out with Ducky, which I think is really sweet by the way – he needs to spend a little more time talking to the living than with the dead and he already talks poor Jimmy's ear off, but he needs to talk because he's Ducky and no one could change him…"

Abby paused to catch her breath; Ziva wondered if the Goth was aware of how much and how fast she talked.

"But that's not important," Abby continued. "I love your top today. Where did you get it from?"


	20. Dec 20

_**Dec 20**_

**Friendship makes prosperity brighter, while it lightens adversity by sharing its griefs and anxieties. – Marcus Tullius Cicero**

Ducky held his breath as the power went out. It was an old habit, born of a time when there was no such thing as emergency power and he had the option of starting a generator himself or waiting patiently for electricity to return.

In the Navy Yard, he knew the emergency power was supposed to kick in within five seconds. But today it did not.

"When are the lights coming back on?" Mr. Palmer's voice floated out of the darkness.

Ducky sighed. "I am sure Abigail is asking the same thing in her lab," he admitted. "Stay where you are – I have a torch on my desk."

The clang of a table and a muffled yelp told him his order had been disobeyed. Nevertheless, he made it to his desk without personal injury. He kept the torch for times like this, times he had not experienced in a while. Switching it on, he cast its beam over his domain.

"What's going to happen to the bodies?" Mr. Palmer began to wonder. "The freezers are off."

Despite their situation, Ducky smiled. It was good to know his assistant was thinking along the right lines. "We have a few hours until they warm up," he recalled. "Warm air rises anyway so we'll still be the coolest place."

"For the moment," Mr. Palmer added. "And after that?"

"Before that," Ducky corrected him. "We need to go and find an engineer. Together. To remind him of the smell that will spread through the building if we don't get back the emergency power."

His assistant smiled. "Does that really work, doctor?"

Ducky returned the smile. "Always."


	21. Dec 21

_**Dec 21**_

**When you perform service for others, you do a great service for yourself.**

"What are we doing here?"

Tim glared at Tony for a brief moment before returning to the task at hand, ladling another portion of something into a bowl. He wasn't sure how nutritious the gray sludge he was handing out could be, but it looked vaguely edible.

The smell, on the other hand, was turning his stomach.

Nevertheless, it was enjoyable to help others. Tony may have spent half the time whining like a little girl, but that was almost normal at work.

They had come straight from the Navy Yard that evening, removed their jackets, rolled up their sleeves and set to work. Each wore an apron to protect their clothes; Tim suspected this was part of the reason Tony was disgruntled.

"Why am I wearing the pink, frilly apron?" Tony questioned. "How come you get the one with the stripes, McVertical?"

"Because I put my apron on first," Tim reminded him. "And you came here voluntarily."

"You said there would be naked women here!" Tony hissed. "I see no naked women."

Tim privately thought they were lucky that Margaret had yet to remove her clothes and hoped against all hope that he would be washing up by then.

"I'm sure I have slop on my Armani shirt," Tony continued. "Do you know how much I paid? Three hundred and fifty dollars!"

"Do you know how much food three hundred and fifty dollars would buy these people?" Tim retorted.

He smiled to himself as Tony shut up, paying more attention to helping the queuing people.

"You know what, Probie?" Tony muttered. "You were right about the naked women."

Tim glanced up in horror to see Margaret in front of him.


	22. Dec 22

_**Dec 22**_

**The dearest thing in nature is not comparable to the dearest thing of friendship. – Jeremy Taylor**

Tony swallowed back his nausea as he took in the crime scene. Why couldn't dog walkers find decaying corpses before the maggots appeared?

To be honest, it wasn't his worst crime scene ever – that one in the sewer with both the horrific smell and the darkness, not to mention the strange splashes in the distance, still gave him nightmares. But this had to be somewhere in his top ten without a shadow of a doubt.

Quite why Corporal Watson had gone fishing had yet to be determined, but Tony already had motive for whoever had kicked his bucketful of maggots over the dead body – to turn the stomach of any investigator. Gibbs was going to go ballistic when they got a suspect in Interrogation.

Or perhaps not. The Boss seemed to be completely unaffected by the stench. Tony wasn't sure he wanted to know why.

A wriggling maggot appeared right in front of his nose and he screamed in shock, taking a step backwards. He glared at the newcomer. Ziva. Of course.

She was chuckling, clearly delighted with her plan. "Are you afraid of a maggot?" she asked. "It is tiny and will not hurt you."

"They feed on dead people," he countered. "And you know I haven't looked at rice the same way since I saw my first dead body."

She continued to chuckle. "Abby wants a large sample to grow up to adulthood. Something about the best way to determine time of death? She assured me that it will stink her lab out for a few weeks."

He grinned suddenly. "Then collect, Ms David."

Her grin grew wider. "Gibbs says you have to do it."

Ziva walked off, giggling again. Tony gulped. Abby was going to need at least fifty of these things…

* * *

_A/N: For the record, I have done this (collected maggots, grown them up to adulthood to determine time of death - admittedly of a pig). They really do stink. At least we didn't have to use 50._


	23. Dec 23

_**Dec 23**_

**Of all things which wisdom provides to make life entirely happy, much the greatest is the possession of friendship. – Epicurus**

Ziva was not entirely sure why she enjoyed spending time in Autopsy. Perhaps it was because she had seen so much death in her life that she was now immune.

But it definitely had something to do with the gentleman whose domain this was. Ducky was welcoming, warm and wonderful. Always knowing just what to say, never shy of speaking his mind. He was the friendly grandfather she had never had.

Autopsy, though chilly due to the bodies, had a comforting feel to it. Death may have touched the corners of this room, but life was celebrated here. Ducky talked to everyone, living and dead. It was strangely reassuring.

A cup of tea appeared out of nowhere and Ziva smiled, taking the gift from Ducky's hands. "Toda," she muttered.

"Al lo davar," he replied with a twinkle in his eye. "How has your day been?"

"It has been good," she answered. "Although I was nearly late this morning. I could not find my blanket and I panicked."

"It's important to you?" The question was thoughtful.

"My mother made it for me," she recalled softly. "I have carried it everywhere with me."

Autopsy fell silent as she smiled, lost in memories. If Ziva had been paying attention to him, she would have seen a gentle smile on Ducky's face.


	24. Dec 24

_**Dec 24**_

**I have myself to respect, but to myself I am not amiable; but my friend is my amiableness personified. – Henry David Thoreau**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not entirely sure why he was at this party.

That was not strictly true – he could recall Abby's infectious enthusiasm when she had invited him, the pleading look in her eyes and her obvious desire for him to agree. And so he had.

But it was definitely not usual for him. He was more at home with a basement, a boat and a bottle of bourbon. Here he could hear pounding music – if it could be called such a thing. He preferred to think of it as a blend of excited screams and about five chainsaws.

The strange 'music' wasn't the only thing that bothered him. People were… dancing wasn't the right word. It looked like some form of gymnastics; it made him feel old. And it was impossible to talk; everyone was yelling in everyone else's ear.

All this did not mean he wasn't enjoying himself. He was taking the time to observe Abby away from work. There were only a few differences but they made him smile. She flitted around the room, smiling with everyone, laughing and joking. Everyone seemed to know her; everyone seemed to love her.

He smiled to her as she came over to check up on him. Abby was amiableness personified.


	25. Dec 25

_**Dec 25**_

**To get the full value of joy you must have someone to divide it with. – Mark Twain**

Ducky could not recall ever feeling so content.

Christmas Day. A time for celebration and family. A time for friends and gifts. A time for giving and receiving. A time for fun and laughter. This year he had invited his friends around to his house, aware that if left to their own devices each would spend Christmas alone.

Timothy and Abigail had arrived first. He had not been surprised – he doubted Abigail had managed a wink of sleep last night and had probably forced Timothy to stay up with her as well. The Goth had been her usual excitable self, despite her not having had any Caf-Pow at Timothy's insistence.

The squeal of brakes had announced Ziva's arrival, with a very green Anthony riding shotgun. They had spent the morning arguing until their fearless leader's arrival, Jennifer in tow. A round of headslaps later, everyone settled down.

Christmas dinner had been perfect. Abigail had brought the cranberry sauce, Timothy the 'pigs in blankets', Anthony the roast potatoes, Ziva the vegetables and Jethro the dessert. Jennifer had been banned from bringing anything after almost burning down her kitchen the previous year while cooking pasta. Ducky did not want to be responsible for any injuries.

He smiled as he surveyed his friends. This moment in time was perfect.

* * *

_A/N: Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. *in my defence, it's 0130 my time and I seriously need sleep*_


	26. Dec 26

_**Dec 26**_

**Even though I sometimes forget to call or write that doesn't mean I've forgotten you. You're always on my mind.**

Gibbs continued to pace the length of his basement. He was now officially worried.

Jenny had left the night before to attend a conference in some small European country he didn't know the name of and was sure even McGee couldn't spell. He knew her flight had arrived safely with a little help from Abby.

But she had not called.

Which worried him. She always called when she left DC, even if it was only overnight. She knew how much he cared about her and that he was prepared to get on the next flight to make sure she was safe if necessary.

He needed her to tell him that everything was fine. Perhaps she had left her phone in her bag. Perhaps she had accidently broken it. Perhaps she had left it in her luggage which had gone missing.

Nothing reassured him. She knew to call.

The phone rang and he snatched it up, desperate to hear her voice.

"Gibbs," he answered, trying to sound normal in case it was a member of his team. DiNozzo would never shut up if he sounded anxious.

"Hello Jethro," came a familiar voice.

He sank down onto the stool. "Jen. You OK?"

"I'm fine," she reassured him. "My phone is attempting to die a horrible death so I've borrowed one."

He breathed out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"I'm sorry," she continued. "I should have tried to talk to you earlier but something came up –"

"I'm just glad you're fine," he interrupted.

"You were on my mind, even while I was talking to Euro-cops," she promised.

He began to smile. "Do I need to shoot any of them?"


	27. Dec 27

_**Dec 27**_

**What can be sweeter than to have a friend to whom one may venture to confide all things as to one's self? – Marcus Tullius Cicero**

Abby ran to the door of her lab the moment she heard the elevator ding. "Timmy!" she squealed at the top of her lungs.

McGee had been exiting the elevator at speed and clearly was not expecting her to crash into him and proceed to squeeze every last drop of oxygen from his lungs. She held onto him as though her life depended on it, wanting to show just how much she cared.

"Abs," he croaked.

She let go immediately, but caught his arm and dragged him into her lab. Glancing all around, she finally decided the coast was clear and promptly pushed McGee into the nearest chair.

"What's going on?" he asked, as curious as ever.

"I know a secret!" she grinned.

"And you want to tell me anyway?" he checked.

She smiled. "I wasn't _told_ to keep it a secret – I just found out before anyone else. And I want to share it with you. You'll like it."

"Does this involve Gibbs and the redhead who picked him up last night?"

Abby's eyes widened. "_Really_? Why didn't you tell me sooner? Mommy can't find out if Daddy's being –"

The grin on his face gave him away. She punched his arm, ignoring his complaint and settled down to tell him what she had learned.

"Agent Wofford has a boyfriend."

McGee looked in shock. "You're kidding."

"I don't kid about these things," she warned. "More accurately, she has a toyboy. A really handsome guy, dark hair, looks as though he visits the gym more than you do –"

"Did you take a picture?" McGee inquired.

She jumped up and down in delight. "We should! I want to show everyone. We can post his face all over the building."

The two friends put their heads together, enjoying the gossip and trying to come up with a plan.


	28. Dec 28

_**Dec 28**_

**Having you by my side is always in fashion. You're my favorite accessory!**

Jenny wasn't sure how she had ended up in this particular conversation, but was certainly enjoying it.

She was resting on one of the couches in her office, her heels on the floor and her feet on the soft furnishing. Abby and Ziva had collapsed onto the same couch and they were all having a good female conversation. None of them had any real work to do – she was up to date on her paperwork for once and the others had no case.

Abby had brought Bert up from her lab and they were taking it in turns to cuddle him. Jenny couldn't quite remember if she had locked her door – hoping against all hope that a certain silver-haired agent didn't burst in at an embarrassing moment – but was more worried about Bert's spiked collar doing some serious damage to her.

"He needs a new collar," Ziva observed, eyeing him critically.

The Goth clapped her hands together. "I haven't treated him to a new collar in a while," she admitted.

"Maybe a different color," Jenny suggested. "To stand out."

The Israeli handed him over and she took another look, trying to decide the color that would go best against the gray.

Without warning, the door crashed open and Tony appeared, grinning as he took a photo of the three of them.

"Agent DiNozzo," Jenny growled, determined to get hold of the camera before whatever mortifying photo of her made the rounds of NCIS.

"Gibbs got the bat signal," he replied, trying to hide the camera behind his back.

Jenny pursed her lips and glanced over at Ziva, communicating without saying a word. The assassin stood up and smirked.

"Ziva," Tony warned, becoming nervous. "Calm down."

She snarled and set off after him. Jenny and Abby giggled at Tony's terrified yelps as he tried to escape.

"I'm thinking of red." Abby brought the conversation back on track. "Or maybe yellow."

* * *

_A/N: I have a Bert. Collar and all. I let him sleep in my bed but the collar is so sharp I'm worried I'll do something stupid when I roll over. Can't resist though. :P_


	29. Dec 29

_**Dec 29**_

**Cultivating friendship provides nourishment for your heart.**

Ducky smiled across the table at his assistant, privately very glad they had chosen to go out for a meal.

It had been a long week, full of guests who all needed an examination, provision of a definitive cause of death and a complete report written. They had been run off their feet, determined to give everyone the best treatment and yet with only a few hours to provide answers. Ducky had slept in the squad room for the last few nights to give him more time, while Mr. Palmer had been crashing in Abby's lab.

Finally, the week and death was over. With luck, people would stop killing each other and live their lives in a more normal manner.

There was not much chance of that. Ducky had been doing his job long enough to know that his skills would always be needed. There was too much violence in the world, wherever he went.

Mr. Palmer busied himself with the menu, looking unsure.

"The roast lamb here is something to die for," Ducky informed his protégé.

Mr. Palmer frowned, putting the menu down and looking slightly lost. "Why is it that people can't… control themselves? I mean, take Petty Officer Pugh. Her husband bashed her over the head with a baseball bat because she burnt his dinner. Why did _that _have to end in murder?"

Ducky placed his menu to one side and focused on his troubled assistant. "_That _is for Agent Gibbs to figure out. We must only worry about our guests – give them justice."

He sighed inwardly, even as Mr. Palmer appeared consoled. He himself did not know the answer to the question and he doubted anyone could answer it accurately. People were just… people.


	30. Dec 30

_**Dec 30**_

**Call it chatter, gossip, or just plain old conversation – I only know it makes my day.**

Tony couldn't bear slow days. Paperwork was something McGeek enjoying doing, not him. He wanted to be outside, pounding the streets, interrogating, questioning witnesses…

Judging by the look of exasperation on Ziva's face, she was close to killing someone. Seeing as she had already put a knife in the photocopier that morning after it had run out of toner, he had a funny feeling this was going to end badly.

"Ziva," he hissed across the empty squad room.

She glared at him. Perhaps this wasn't his best idea. If he waited five minutes, the Probie was likely to return from Abby's lair or Gibbs would emerge with a fresh coffee. But now he had her attention, there was a chance he could calm her down.

"Why do you think Gibbs spent so long in Jenny's office last night? He went up to bug her but it doesn't take an hour."

"They used to be partners," Ziva reminded him, looking a little calmer. "They were probably talking."

"Just partners?" Tony snorted. "No way. Gibbs would have to be a _saint _to control himself around her. Especially when they went to Paris."

Ziva rolled her eyes, but he could see the teasing glint in them. "What does it matter? We cannot get it through your thick skull anyway."

Tony grinned. "And the way he looks at her now… They need to get a room."

"They have houses," Ziva pointed out, confused. "I am sure they have rooms."

"A room! They need to sleep together!" he almost shouted.

A slap to the back of his head shut him up. Tony shot a glare at Ziva as she smiled happily and went back to her work. At least his Mossad assassin wasn't likely to kill anyone now.

The ex-marine on the other hand…


	31. Dec 31

_**Dec 31**_

**If you have something to do, someone to love, and something to hope for, every day becomes a celebration.**

Gibbs resisted the urge to smile. After all, he had a tough guy image to uphold.

It was hard though. Jenny had decided to hold a New Year's party for the entire agency, before evilly making it black tie and blackmailing him to attend. Sometimes it was incredibly annoying that his Probie had made it all the way to the top of the tree.

Nevertheless, it was good to watch everyone relax. Someone, probably Abby, had spiked the punch and everyone was ever so slightly drunk.

Tony and Ziva were dancing in the middle of the room; she resting her head on his shoulder and his hands a little too close to her behind for Gibbs' liking. Abby, on a caffeine high, was busy trying to arrange a conga line. Ducky and McGee were quietly conversing by the bar.

And Jenny was standing a little too near an agent from Los Angeles. Gibbs was torn between going over and claiming her for his own, or tearing the offending agent limb from limb.

The whole ballroom was full of excitement and joy. Gibbs could see agents he hadn't spoken to in years – some he liked and others he detested. A small orchestra played in a corner, filling the room with an enchanting sound. Somehow, Abby's ears had yet to start bleeding.

He finally allowed himself to smile as he watched them all. In a few short hours, a new year would dawn and they would continue onwards together.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you so much for sticking with me all the way through 2009. I was debating attempting another year when _madpsychogirl _offered to take the torch. I've seen the whole of January and I'm really looking forward to this. Happy New Year everyone!_


End file.
